Her Asleepness
by Gilly.Flowers
Summary: Sweeney often finds himself in Mrs. Lovett's room... Probably a misleading start, but eh, how else will anyone read this? (With a good summary, maybe...)


**A.N. :3 Atleast i think that's what it's called, right? well anyways, this is- well it's not my FIRST ST (Sweeney Todd- i did the ST thingy becuase i felt too lazy to write Sweeney Todd, but i ended up puting that, so i guess it was pretty much useless *shrug*) story-like thing, but it's my first on here, or the first i'm posting, or whatever it is. So.,.Please, if anyone actually reads, i'd love some opinions and some advice, please! Also, i didn't know what to really put it under, in terms of the genres, so sorry if 'suspence' or 'humor' isn't really my story XD They didn't have 'uneventful' as a genre, so...Anyways, if someone out there in this vast, vast world actually considers reading my crap, i hope it's enjoyable, and i hope you have opinions! - **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd, the movie or the musical; all rights go to Tim Burton and Stephen Sondheim.**

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The room was dark and quiet; the only light was of the moon's casting, through the curtains hung on the window. The only sound to be heard was the gentle, even breathing from the even more so unruly red-haired woman whom was soundly asleep in her large, four poster bed. The mattress was coarse, she and Albert had gotten it along with a set of blankets and pillows as a wedding gift- oh, how long ago that felt. Half her body was obscured by the sheets, her exposed arms held a ghostly glow, her pale face relaxed, but not exactly peaceful.

The door slowly crawled open, a dark figure leaning against the frame. He watched her hand slide up the bed and slip underneath her pillow, a slight crease in her forehead from the creaking of the hinges and the floorboards.

This had become a regular thing for him- he liked to see her like this; so calm, vulnerable. He really couldn't say quiet, because every now and then, he'd catch himself almost smiling when she whispered incoherently into the mattress. Even when asleep, she couldn't stop herself from talking.

Sleeping almost made her pretty, if not sort of lady-like. The torments of consciousness and the heavy burdens of the day time seemed to melt off her face just a tad bit more with each breath, as she slipped further into the dark, silent oblivion. Her easy, slow breathing made him envious. He had almost woken her up once, just to drag her back and to see the weight of life land heavily on her shoulders once again- why did she get the chance to slip away, if only for a few moments, while he had to sit in his whirlpool of pain and torment?

But he always managed to stop himself before he took two steps away from the door- he wouldn't want her to know he was there, spying on her as she slept. It was too much embarressment at consequence for a few moments of the petty smugness of knowing she too was just as tormented as he.

He felt his eyelids droop. At least he too would be able to sleep for a short while, without the nightmares coming to gnaw away at his sanity. He couldn't quite understand why watching Mrs. Lovett at her most traquil of states had such a welcomed affect on him, but non-the-less, he enjoyed it for however long it lasted. Yes, watching her sleep helped him find rest, too. Odd indeed, but it helped knowing he wasn't completely without the ability to lay down and sleep.

Closing the door and walking as silent as a grave back his cold room, he figured sleeping with Mrs. Lovett was better than by himself. Though he shook his head, banishing the inappropriate thoughts that flooded his mind when he pictured the Baker's slumbering face and her slowly filling chest, and her slowly exhaling, parted lips... He didn't want to think about that right now, or ever, really. Thinking upon it would only make the knowledge that he could have her any moment he wanted too unbearable to resist. Besides, figured wasn't exactly correct: He was absolutely, utterly positive she was a good fuck- not that he would know from experience, it was just fact. Fact.

Laying down on his squeaky cot, he frowned disapprovingly at himself. He wasn't to think Mrs. Lovett was a whore, she wasn't. But that didn't mean she wasn't...practised, he supposed. As his head hit the pillow, his body growing heavy in between the papery material of the blankets and the bumpy mattress, Sweeney figured Mrs. Lovett's bed was just as cold. The thought made him feel good- he had a hold on her, she was completely his, even if he did nothing to or for her- and she probably didn't even see how much he owned her with the simplest of touches; renewing her loyalty with ridiculous hope with a dance, or a smirk, or when he mused her on when she was so eminently practical...She was always a wonder, that woman.

After her door had closed, the baker let herself a smile, her eyes closing back shut as the room was filled with silence, a lonely chill wrapping it's self around the walls when the dark looming man had left. Don't get it wrong, she had been sleeping- but it was just as he pushed off the door frame to retire back to his living space, that she had awoke. She always woke up when he went to leave, he just hadn't realized it yet. Lovett's eyes slipped back shut; dreaming of warm, tough hands sliding against her flesh, lips pressing against hers and black eyes looking down on her with hunger. She liked when he watched her sleep.


End file.
